Spectrum
by Bishoppe
Summary: "Eventually, we all left the Champion's side for one reason or another… well, all of us except for Fenris."  ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**SPECTRUM**

Summary: "Eventually, we all left the Champion's side for one reason or another… well, all of us except for Fenris."

Eventual F!Hawke/Fenris. Past F!Hawke/Anders and Isabela/Fenris.

Rating: M for violence, language, and adult themes.

Genre: Drama/Romance with a touch of dark humor.

Well hey there! This is a continuous story of Hawke's travels throughout Thedas while on the run from the people hunting her down, along with some of her remaining companions. This is a romance, though it is not obvious at first at all, and will span approximately 10-15 chapters. This story also has numerous references to Dragon Age Origins.

Enjoy! Excuse the errors/inconsistencies. This is my first real story ;)

-o-o-o-

The fire and smoke blinded her vision as Marian Hawke bounded down the dirt and rock on the outskirts of Kirkwall city. The entire city was in flames, with smoke rising to kiss the clouds in the night sky. Mothers were screaming for their children, and men were screaming from their wounds, many bearing frost burns and scars from the wrath of the mages.

The templars, under the unsteady hand of Knight-Captain Cullen, tried in vain to regain order within the city, seeking out every last abomination and blood mage within the confines of Kirkwall. The unrest continued, even without Hawke's involvement. Although the templars allowed her and her friends to leave peacefully, the abominations and Meredith-supporters did not. They had to fight their way out, losing each other in the process. Even as Hawke left Kirkwall, she still heard the screams of the wounded in her head.

It was chaos, pure and glorious chaos, but not the kind that Hawke enjoyed.

The faint cries of anonymous townsfolk were still fresh in her memory – the begging of mages to be spared from death, the strangled yelps of a young blood mage as his throat was slit by the templars' swords, and the cries of her own companions. It rang through her ears in an eternal song of bloodlust. Thoughts raced through her exhausted mind with every desperate step she took. Her four companions were also escaping Kirkwall into the wilderness.

Meredith was dead. Orsino was dead. Grand Cleric Elthina was dead. Kirkwall was without a ruler, and had neither heirs nor authority to control the city. Hawke's hands swung in front of her face furiously, trying to shield her face from the branches of trees and bushes, having lost her staff long ago.

Suddenly, Hawke ceased running. Her feet skidded to a stop, and she fell upon her knees in exhaustion, her hands on the ground. Heaving and coughing up blood, she assessed the extent of her wounds, all while plagued by thoughts of where her companions may be. They had all been split during their fervent escape from the city. Hawke pondered about Varric, and if he was together with the others, or if he was alienated, just as she was. She knew that Merrill would be able to survive easily with the help of her powerful magic, and that Aveline and Fenris were just as capable.

Hawke's thoughts shifted to Isabela. Oh, if only she was here, wouldn't she have fun, thought Hawke sarcastically. Isabela had betrayed her during the plight with the Qunari and had run off with the relic, and was now Maker-knows-where in Thedas. She wondered if she had heard about the mage and templar conflict yet, throughout the past three years.

As Hawke bent over to inspect an infected cut on her ankle, a pain in her chest smarted. She cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise, and bolted upright. Gingerly, she lifted the torn fabric of her robe to see the bleeding cut that was on the bottom of her chest, where her bottom ribs lay. As she looked closer, the cut itself was small in comparison to most of her wounds, but that was not what attracted Hawke's attention. Blood stained her robes profusely, which struck her as odd, since she attacked from a distance during the battle, and never got too close to the enemy. There was one person that she did kill at close range, however. Memories of blood dribbling out of the dagger that she had plunged into the back of a certain renegade made came into play in her mind.

_Anders._

Hawke's hands gripped the dirt beneath her filthy fingers in anger.

"_Bastard…"_

It was _he_ who blew up the chantry. _He_ who brutally murdered Grand Cleric Elthina. _He_ who betrayed her trust. _He_ who caused her to unintentionally plant the seed of her involvement into his plans. _He_ who had claimed to act on behalf of the eventual freedom of all mages, and instead used this facade to release his bitter hatred upon those who least deserved it. _He_ deserved the knife that Hawke had plunged into his heart.

And yet, by killing him, Hawke had also killed herself.

Hawke stared off into the distance as she sat on her legs, ignoring the searing pain from the still-infected cut on her ankle. Her entire body felt sore and spent from fighting. However, all she could do is think about what has transpired. She tried to turn her sore body around to see the city from afar, in all its blazing glory.

"Where could the others be…?" She wondered aloud, to no one in particular. The smell of smoke filled her nostrils.

She had to regroup, but how? She couldn't see anything in the dark of the night, and the soreness of her entire body made her feel as if she was being stabbed with a thousand needles. A soft, warm bed might be nice…

Hawke's vision blurred as her head lolled to the side. A wave of drowsiness overtook her sensations as she fell to the ground, seeing nothing but black.

-o-o-o-

"Hey… hey Hawke! Wake up!" A familiar voice rang in Hawke's ears.

She groaned, her entire body feeling as filthy as one of the specials from The Hanged Man. She opened her eyes to find herself looking at a pair of stout boot-clad feet. Hawke's heart jumped in relief as she laid her eyes at her favorite dwarf.

"Varric," She managed to say weakly, with a small, sarcastic smile," So nice of you to arrive, in such a timely manner too."

"Ah, it was all Bianca, baby," replied Varric, patting the beloved crossbow strapped to his back," She sought you out, she did. Took down a wolf that was attacking me while I was looking for you. When I went to retrieve the arrow from the body, there you were, lying across the ground like virgin snow."

Hawke's eyebrows rose at this analogy. The city may have burned to shambles but Varric was the same as ever, even if his favorite tavern went down with it. At this thought, Hawke immediately straightened up and scrambled over to the edge of the hills from where she was hiding.

The fires had died down mostly, but the city looked even more grave than usual, with smoke rising from the dying fires, along with an eerie silence. It was as if everyone within the city was dead.

Varric seemed to read Hawke's downcast eyes, and he cleared his throat.

"I found the others. They're in a clearing not too far from here. It isn't morning, so the news isn't out yet. We can sleep at an inn near the Wounded Coast, then decide where we're gonna go from here in the morning."

Hawke smiled at Varric's efficiency. She made a move to get up off the ground, but the cut in her ankle made it impossible to stand. Varric helped her, letting Hawke lean into him while he led her into the direction of said clearing. It was almost comical how she hovered over his shorter self. As they moved deeper within the small forest, the amount of trees increased, and with every step they took, the sound of a thousand leaves crunched beneath their feet.

"How long have you been looking for me, Varric?" inquired Hawke. She wanted to know how long she had been out for.

"I lost track, but I think I've been wandering around for about two hours. I found everyone by then. You won't believe it, but Fenris was actually the last one to leave the city. Said he was helping some elven lass find her kid."

Hawke grinned weakly, "I always knew there was a heart under that big ol' armor he wears."

They continued small talk until Hawke's blurry vision was able to make out the light of a small campfire, small enough so not to attract attention. They had entered a clearing within the woods. There was a dirt path leading out of the clearing to the city, but it was at least a few kilometers away. Within the clearing, there were rows upon rows of tree stumps. In the middle stood a small campfire, barely enough to emit warmth, much less cook a meal. A large flat rock was beside the campfire, with an array of clothing drying on it, which Hawke assumed to be Merrill's, as she recognized the green garb. Beside the rock, a large shed stood tall, with a number of wheelbarrows lining up against it. A creek lay in the corner of the clearing.

As soon as they entered, Varric gently set her down on a tree stump in front of a fire. Immediately, Hawke felt a pair of skinny arms thrust around her neck.

"Hawke! Oh thank goodness! You're not dead!" She smiled at Merrill's squeal as she released Hawke. Merrill looked no less worse for wear, save for the few scratch marks that sported her face. She wore a long man's shirt that she presumed to be Varric's that reached her knees.

"Aye, I'm no Chantry maiden, Merrill," replied Hawke with a grin. As she looked around the campsite, she spotted Aveline approaching her with a troubled expression on her scarred face. There were multiple scorch marks on her armor, presumably from the many fireballs thrown her way during the battle.

"Hawke," Aveline addressed warily. Hawke nodded curtly. They did not often see eye-to-eye. Aveline believed Hawke was a ruffian and disturber of peace at times and Hawke thought that Aveline had little compassion and capacity for mercy, and that she was in fact, a complete bore.

"Oh, here's a bit of soup. Aveline cooked up whatever's left from our packs, and we've left a bit for you. Don't worry about anyone seeing the smoke from the fire, either. I made a little barrier around the campsite so no one else can see us," said Merrill cheerily, handing over a small half-full pot with stew. Hawke couldn't help but smile. Despite the position they were in, Hawke felt her mood lifted by Merrill's optimism. However…

"Wait… how did you-"

"Blood magic," said Fenris flatly, stepping into the clearing away from the thicket of the forest. Merrill made a small sound of surprise. Hawke turned her head to face him, and her eyes widened. He was covered with bandages in numerous places and had a slight limp to his usually proud step. It was unusual to see him in such a state, but Hawke was relieved to see him alive, at the very least. She had always had a bit of a soft spot for the broken ex-slave.

"It is good to see you alive," said Fenris calmly," I trust that you are unharmed?"

She nodded.

Merrill shifted uncomfortably on the stump. Fenris walked closer to the campsite until he was a few feet away from Hawke. He nodded towards her and took a seat. A comfortable silence ensued, with Hawke finishing her food and Merrill trying to wash the blood out of her stockings. Aveline kept watch for any passers-by. Varric cleared his throat.

"So… not to ruin the romantic moment, but we better get moving. This is a site for lumbering in Kirkwall, "Varric said while pointing at the large shed, "and we should go before Daisy's spell wears out. No one's here right now because they're all in the city, but they'll surely be back in the morning to get wood for repairs." Hawke turned her head towards him.

"Wait… where are we going to go?"

"That's up to you, Hawke," said Varric, "But right now, we're gonna hit up a little inn on the edge of the Wounded Coast. "

"What good will that do? The news will come in no time and we'll be found out and arrested by the templars that are probably coming to help out the ones in Kirkwall. Cullen just gave us a chance to escape," replied Hawke.

"Thing is, Hawke, that the proprietor of the inn is an old fart who's pretty much a hermit. I doubt he'll even hear of the city's downfall and if he does, I doubt he'd give a crap," said Varric, satisfied.

Hawke bit her lip, in deep thought. What Varric said was indeed true. Going to the inn was their best bet, and it would give them a chance to finally rest.

Aveline frowned.

"Why are we running away? We should be helping the citizens and the Knight-Captain, not escaping like a band of cowards. Even you, Hawke," pointed Aveline, "should know that this is all because of Anders. All of this chaos is caused by him. You were closest to him, how could you have not known what he was going to do, and even worse, _helped_ him with planting the explosion inside of the Chantry? Why I even stood by you is still a mystery to me."

Hawke's eyes narrowed. This was to be expected of her: always wanting justice.

"So I'm the villain here? Because I was betrayed?

Aveline's lip trembled, but she continued with her accusations, walking closer to Hawke with every word.

"Yes! You should have watched over him more closely! You knew what kind of person he was. You knew the consequences that could have happened before they did. You saw that he had almost killed a girl while under Justice's control. You knew what he was. "

"He was broken, Aveline, he was a troubled man," Hawke said weakly, but she knew what Aveline said was true. She knew that Anders was unpredictable, and placed her trust in him too easily.

Behind Aveline, Fenris scoffed bitterly.

"Danarius would use the same weak excuse. Abominations like Anders will always have some sort of reason why they need to kill. If not for him, this chaos could have been negated, "he said lowly, "and Hawke's… _association_ with him only made things worse."

Hawke gave Fenris a defeated look.

"What would you have done in my place, Fenris?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his surprise. He had never attempted to empathize with a mage.

Sensing the tension, and seeing the nervous expression on Merrill's face, Varric decided to be the one to make the peace, before Aveline started again.

"Hey now, does it really matter at this point? We're together, our asses are in one piece, and we're free. Well, at least until the bounty-hunters get us, but we'll get to that later. Right now, we'd better get to the inn so we can catch some sleep. We should probably head out again tomorrow evening once we've figured out where we're gonna go, eh?"

Silently, all were in agreement. Aveline remained quiet, biting her lip.

Noiselessly, the small group began packing their things. Merrill grabbed the clothes drying on the rock and quietly excused herself to go change in the forest. Fenris stood at the edge of the clearing, thinking about what Hawke had said. Varric was trying to tie up Hawke's ankle with a bandage, and gave her a small bit of elfroot to chew on to ease the pain.

Aveline, however, was gazing longingly at Kirkwall. Hawke knew instantly that she would be the first to leave.

After another half hour, the group was ready to leave.

Hawke was able to walk, albeit slowly, and leaned onto Merrill, with one arm around each other's shoulder as they followed Varric into out of the clearing. There was no sound except for the pitter-patter of feet and the clinking of Aveline's armor. Varric lead the way, with Merrill and Hawke coming in second, and Aveline in the back. Fenris was limping behind her.

As they left the clearing, the dirt path led down a large hill. While at the top, Hawke could see the horizon, with the endless blue-black sky encrusted with a million stars. To her right, far off in the distance, Hawke could see the misty walls of Kirkwall, partly concealed by the rolling hills and few trees. Down the dirt path, far off, was an intersection of paths, with various signs dictating where each path led.

Hawke looked behind her to see Aveline looking at her feet as she walked. Behind her, Fenris trudged slowly, also looking down. He muttered under his breath as he walked, clearly unhappy. It truly made her wonder: Why did he continue to follow her if she was the embodiment of what he hated the most? Furthermore, when she had decided to support the mages in the battle, why did he stick by her? They were on complete opposites of the spectrum, so what made him continue to fight at her side?

Hawke's eyes narrowed in deep thought as they neared the intersection. The chilly night air nipped at her pale skin and bellowed in her ears like Chantry bells. She shivered, her torn robes ineffective against the howling. She felt Merrill tighten her grip around Hawke's shoulder, providing a level of warmth.

Varric stopped and looked around. Hawke looked up to see that they were at the intersection. Four dirt paths were connected, with a sign accompanying each one except for the path that led to the clearing. One was labeled "Markham", the second was "Brandel's Reach", and the third "Kirkwall". Varric, however, paid no mind to the signs, and instead, walked off the dirt path to the left. The rest of the group followed him, curiously.

Behind a small group of trees, there stood a small wooden two-story house, with the words "Sombre Inn" slapped on a sign. The dark green paint was chipping off of the inn, giving it a haunted look, especially against the set of the gloomy night. Varric cleared his throat.

"Well… not the most welcoming place, but at least there's no lice in the beds. Or, at least, not a lot," Varric snickered at Merrill's pale face," Watch out for the innkeeper, Erlot, though. That bastard's a grey and greasy pervert and never keeps his hands to himself. "

"What ever do you mean, Varric?" Merrill pondered thoughtfully, until realization dawned upon her. Her cheeks tinged pink, and her mouth formed a small "oh". She crossed her arms in a meekly defensive way. Varric snickered, and Hawke grinned. Aveline only sighed.

Varric pushed the door open and ushered everyone inside, away from the biting wind.

There was very dim light inside of the inn. To the left, there was a pair of tables with a couple chairs. Up front, there was a large staircase.

"_Leading to the rooms, I presume_," thought Hawke.

A man was sitting at a counter to the left, in a corner, who Hawke assumed to be the innkeeper Erlot. There was an array of potion ingredients on the surface, with multiple vials. He was rather tall, with a grey stubble and a shock of silvery hair. He had a long aquiline nose and blue eyes, and reminded Hawke something of Gamlen. She mentally giggled at the thought of her miserable uncle, and suddenly missed Kirkwall more than ever.

Varric walked up to the counter, with the group in tow. The man looked up from his studies, and his grim expression lifted into one of surprise. A crooked smile crossed his features as his eyes traced over Varric's companions. Merrill clutched at Hawke's shoulder in a vice-like grip.

"Well, well, Varric, what kind of lovely company have ye brought here?" Erlot said, leering at Merrill. She shuddered, shifting behind Hawke. Fenris let out an annoyed growl. Varric merely laughed heartily.

"Only some of the prettiest ladies in all of Thedas, Erlot, "Varric said winking," But really, we're just here for rooms, no funny business."

"Hmm, are ye sure? Perhaps ye could leave one of 'em with me. How about this delightful princess right here," Erlot pointed, "Hey lovely lady, how ye doin'?"

"I'm a male," Fenris growled in annoyance. Erlot didn't seem to hear him. Hawke and Merrill had to bite down on their tongues to keep from giggling.

"Alright, you dog. We're just here to get rooms. You're still gonna give that discount, right?

"No doubt about it. What brings ye and yer harem here, anyhow? It's such a beautiful day outside."

Varric snickered," Actually it's the middle of the night."

Erlot's eyebrows rose in surprise," My, how time flies. Of course, my rooms are available to ya. Three silvers per person."

Varric nodded, and took out a small coin purse, using his ring-studded fingers to pull out a couple of silver coins to give to Erlot. Erlot counted them, satisfied with the money, and gave each of them a key.

The group began walking up the stairs. The inn reeked of a foul-smelling odor that seemed to follow them everywhere, and Hawke pinched her nose gingerly. It smelled of wet dog.

"I thought this sort of smell was only in Fereldan, "Hawke grumbled, and Varric laughed.

"Evidently not. It's only because there's a small swamp nearby. Erlot's actually a bit of a clean-freak, unless he's doing his experiments."

"Wait… he's not an apostate, is he?" Aveline said with a pale face. Hawke couldn't help but smile. Even outside of the city, Aveline still did her best to uphold the law. It added a bit of a charming quality to her, even if Hawke disagreed.

"Nope, he's a retired alchemist, actually. We traded with each other a few years before I met Hawke."

The stairs were long and steep. Hawke could hear Fenris' heavy breathing behind her as they climbed the stairs. She almost forgot he was there with how quiet he was during the entire journey. Hawke reckoned that he was just as tired as she. Finally, they reached the top.

The top of the stairs had a path leading down a long hallway with a dozen doors on either side. From the outside, the inn looked barely big enough to have one or two rooms, and Hawke's bright eyes widened in wonder. She looked at the number engraved on her key.

03.

Letting go of Merrill's shoulder, Hawke walked across the hallway to the assigned door, and opened it with the key, entering the room. All of her companions did the same, too tired to even say, "Goodnight".

The room was humble-looking, but welcoming. There was a brown shelf and a small chest in the corner. The bed, with its white pillows and pale green sheets, looked extremely alluring to Hawke. She sighed and closed the door.

This all felt like a very vivid dream, she thought as she sunk down onto the bed, trying to recollect her thoughts. It was a big mess. Kirkwall was in chaos, there would surely be bounties on her head, and the future was uncertain. Where would they go? How would they get there? Would they even stay alive?

Hawke's eyes narrowed suddenly in annoyance at herself as she sat upright. Hawke puffed out her chest comically, trying to block out all uncertainty in her mind.

She was the Champion.

She needed no one but her trusty dwarf and favorite elf.

She was free and could go anywhere she wished.

Satisfied, Hawke fell backwards onto the bed and closed her eyes in peaceful meditation, falling asleep not long afterwards. Despite her cocky self-talk, she secretly hoped that she would be able to return to Kirkwall one day, once all of this chaos was done with.

For now, however, sleep came first.

-o-o-o-

"_Marian…_" A distant, soothing voice coaxed frombeside her.

Hawke's eyes fluttered as the last bits of sleep wore away in her mind. She cuddled up closer to the source of the soft voice on the bed. The fire had long since cooled in the fireplace and the morning's chilly fingers nipped at her exposed flesh.

"_Marian… wake up!"_ The voice persisted. Hawke frowned and grumbled childishly, her eyes still closed. Anders truly was persistent…

"Just five more minutes…please…"

She heard him chuckle, his voice sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

"_That's five more minutes for your ma to run me through with a sword if she finds me here. Somehow I don't like the idea of dying without any pants on. Scandalous, really_," the voice said dramatically.

"Without any pants on…?" Hawke wondered, and then her cheeks tinged pink in realization. All she could remember were impassioned proclamations of love and a whole load of tumbling and fumbling from last night. Hawke couldn't help but wonder if mama heard them.

"_That's right, and if you don't wake up and get dressed so that you can help me sneak out alive, my lovely pants-less self will be cut and quartered._"

Hawke smiled. She liked it when he was like this: himself. He told her that he was often much more like his old self, before Justice took over, in the mornings, when he was fresh from the Fade and Justice had a weak grip on his inner self. He grumbled when he noticed that she wasn't answering.

"_Oh fine then, be lazy. First it's the Grey Wardens, then it's the whole escaping the Templars thing, and now this. I swear I have to suffer in this world alone." _

Hawke felt the bed lift as Anders got up to get dressed.

"Wait, Anders, don't leave yet," Hawke said as she finally opened her eyes and sat up suddenly, scanning the room for him. A harsh realization dawned upon her when she realized that she wasn't in her room, and instead of Anders, her eyes fell upon empty air.

He wasn't there at all.

Hawke shivered and brought her knees up to rest her face upon them. So this was real indeed. He had indeed betrayed her.

Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to cry about it, mainly because she kept denying to herself that it even ever happened. She kept on telling herself that any moment now, he would pop out of nowhere, and say, "Just kidding!" with that silly grin on his face. She didn't want to believe that he, Anders, the freedom fighter, brutally massacred an entire building with innocents. She didn't want to hate him for what he's done, even if she felt anger towards him. She didn't want to have to point the finger at him, to blame him for the entire downfall for the city. The anger she felt towards him last night had now transformed into outright denial in her head. It all seemed unreal to her, as if it had never happened.

Hawke sighed and lifted her weary body off of the bed, and straightened out her mangled robes, frowning at the dried blood. She shuffled across the room, taking care to make little noise as the floor was creaky, and she didn't want to wake her fellow exhausted companions. The morning's light poured in through the wooden windows, giving the otherwise drab and dull hallway an ethereal glow.

"_Can't be much later than dawn_…" thought Hawke as she walked down the light-spilled hallway.

Noiselessly, she walked down the stairs, and noticed at the bottom that Erlot was in the same place he had been last night, at the counter with his ingredients, this time, numerous large vials sported the table, all filled with different sorts of solutions. Her eyes widened in wonder at the completed potions; she had never seen them before.

Erlot noticed her surprised look and grinned, understanding. The lecherous grin from the night before was erased and replaced with a sage look.

"They from all over the place. Some in places you wouldn't expect to find, like underneath certain types o' trees, or part of a certain rock or fungi," he said. Erlot held up a purple, menacing-looking root," This, here, for example, is a kind of deathroot pulp, found only on certain subspecies of deathroot. And this here, " Erlot explained, holding up a small, dark blue solution," contains dust from a Pride Demon. Got it myself, I did!"

Erlot trailed on, detailing all of the ingredients on his desk, while Hawke simply stared. So he was not simply tampering with unknown ingredients.

"I sell 'em to different sorts of travelers and adventurers, and the occasional scholar or two that pass by the shop. Keeps me and me shop goin'. I keep most of 'em, though, especially the pretty ones," Erlot said, pointing to a strangely colored vial for emphasis. This one had dark blue swirls and seemed to fizz endlessly. It emitted a faint scent that reminded Hawke strangely of pumpkin pie.

He began crumbling the deathroot pulp with practiced fingers, knowing exactly how small the pieces were to be for his potion. Hawke could tell that this man knew his stuff, most likely better than any alchemist that she'd ever met before. He handled his ingredients with the utmost care, not rushing his work at all like all of the alchemists she knew.

But if he was such an expert on creating such complex potions, then why did he stay cooped up in an isolated inn outside of the city, when he could make so much money off of these potions?

"Do you have any idea at all how much money you could make from all those potions if you'd sold them in the city?" Hawke asked.

Erlot simply smiled," Young lady, ye 'ave much to learn. Money ain't e'erthing."

Hawke frowned. Of course it was everything. She spent an entire four years trying to earn her family a decent home in Kirkwall, worked her body day and night to earn enough sovereigns to fund the expedition, all while trying to keep her teammates updated with their weapons. Money was the gateway to happiness in Kirkwall. Without it, you were either a thug, hunted and hated, or a poor runt with little future.

Before Hawke could voice her opposition, however, she heard the door creak open. Varric barged inside the inn, looking oddly disheveled and out of breath. His nervous eyes fell upon Hawke and he stumbled over to her. Hawke found it strange that the usually smooth dwarf looked so distraught.

"Hawke… we need to move. Fast," Varric said," I visited a tiny village called Myll about an hour away from here to get some supplies and bandages, and I overheard some things you might not want to hear. Hey Erlot, whip us up some cold ale, will ya?" He snapped his fingers over to the old alchemist, who looked up from his experiments to get up and shuffle over to a cabinet.

Hawke took a seat with Varric at one of the worn-out tables as Erlot placed a bottle of ice-cold liquor for each of them on the table. Varric took a long swig out of his bottle before continuing.

"See, a couple hours ago, I came to Myll, went straight to the inn to get the supplies, and the whole place was packed. I was wearing a cloak so nobody knew who I was. Thing is, everyone from the town was at the inn, and all gathered up at the front, crowded around this templar fellow. 'Ser Crius', I think was his name. Anyways, he was apparently a resident of Myll and joined the templars at Kirkwall, and was present during the final battle. He was critically injured by a blood mage and was sent back home. Thing is, he told everyone in the inn what happened, and well, it was completely different from what really happened…"

Hawke paled," What exactly did he say happened…?"

Varric took another swig before continuing," He said that everyone is saying that it was _you who planted the bomb in the Chantry_, and it was you who killed Grand Cleric Elthina. In their eyes, you're a terrorist who blatantly favored the mages only because you, yourself, are one."

Hawke nearly yelled," What? How could they think that? I saved their sorry arses! Didn't Cullen say anything about it?"'

Varric shook his head, "Apparently he refuses to say anything about you."

"_How convenient,_" thought Hawke sarcastically.

"There weren't too many witnesses when Anders blew up the Chantry… so people will make up stories. The real thing we have to worry about is that Ser Crius said that he was sure that there would be multiple bounties on your head as well as ours. The templars outside of Kirkwall are already hearing about what happened, and it's only going to be a matter of time before they get to Kirkwall and hear the rumors about you blowing up the Chantry. Then it's all going to hell in a basket."

Hawke thought about this. Why did they think of her as the bomb-planter? She had done nothing for the city but try to help. She'd saved lives upon lives, risking her own in the process. There was no reason for them to think of her as the culprit…

…but then again, there was no reason for them to believe that Anders was the one, either. Anders was a medical doctor, he simply healed the sick and wounded. He had done nothing to make the people believe that he might've been the killer. Hawke, on the other hand, was far more involved in violence than he. He had a reputation as a respectable doctor; her, as a thug-turned-noble. Of course people would think that she blew up the Chantry, especially if the witnesses refused to talk about it.

If this was the case, then Hawke and her companions would have no choice but to run.

Varric twirled the neck of the bottle in his hands, silently assessing the situation in his head. Hawke cleared her throat.

"Well… who wants to go on an adventure?" Hawke asked with her signature sneaky smile. Varric seemed to relax visibly as he saw how lightly Hawke was taking this. He returned her smile with a matching one of his own.

"You never fail to meet my expectations, Hawke. Shall we go wake the others and tell them the good news?"

Hawke laughed lightly, "So we shall. Shall I handle the broody elf or would you like to?"

Varric pursed his lips, "No thanks. I've had enough discomfort for today."

"But then you'll have to handle the raging redhead," Hawke said, snickering. No doubt Aveline would be yelling at her even more now that everyone thought that she blew up the Chantry.

Varric nearly choked on his ale. He gulped before standing up, "Nevermind. One broody, but awoken elf, coming right up."

Varric bounded up the stairs, leaving Hawke alone; or at least, she thought she was alone.

" So, yer Lady Hawke, eh?"

Hawke's head snapped in Erlot's general direction. '_Shit…'_

She had completely forgotten about his presence in the room while she and Varric were talking. All this time, Erlot stayed as quiet as a mouse.

"A-aye… I am," stammered Hawke, figuring that there was no point in hiding now.

Erlot simply smiled, "Don't ye worry, I won't give ye out. Never cared for that silly city anyways; it was gonna 'splode one day or another."

Hawke felt a wave of relief wash over her, even though she silently chided herself to keep her wits about her next time and be careful where she discussed this kind of information.

She got up, feeling that it was finally time to go wake Aveline and Merrill.

She hurried up the stairs, and walked over to the door '02', which was the door she saw Aveline walk into last night. Hawke lifted her hand up and gave a rather timid knock on the door. She waited.

And waited.

Frowning, Hawke turned the knob on the door and stepped inside, a chilly gust of wind from a fully-opened window awakening her senses. She looked around frantically inside the cramped room, which was identical to hers, expecting to have Aveline's shield knocked in her face for intruding. No shield came.

Aveline was gone.

Hawke sat upon the unmade bed in disbelief. Under her, the sound of crunching paper reached her ears. Hawke lifted immediately, and lifted the rumpled piece of paper to her eyes. Aveline's scraggly, messy handwriting was written in a few, curt sentences.

_Hawke,_

_I'm going back to the city. It's going to hell if I'm not there to help the KC restore order, and I'm not leaving my husband behind to deal with it all. I hope you'll do the right thing and surrender as well, because you were involved too. Don't try to change my mind._

_Thanks for the adventures. It was good while it lasted. You and I often disagreed, but I hope we've brought our differences to rest by now. _

_Hope you come back,_

_Aveline _

Hawke bit her bottom lip.

'_Why am I not surprised?" _

She shook her head, folded the piece of paper and tucked it away in her pouch. Hawke knew that Aveline would only do the right thing and bring the templars to Erlot's inn if they asked her where Hawke was, and it was even more reason than ever to leave as soon as they could. Hawke exited the room, and stepped into the hallway only to see Fenris, Varric, and Merrill all standing at the stairway end of the hallway expectantly.

"Good morning, I do hope you've had a good rest," chirped Merrill.

"I understand that we are now on the run. Any plans for what we're going to do now?" asked Fenris.

"Well," Hawke began, " Who's up for a game of hide-and seek?"


	2. Chapter 2

**SPECTRUM**

Summary: "Eventually, we all left the Champion's side for one reason or another… well, all of us except for Fenris."

Eventual F!Hawke/Fenris. Past F!Hawke/Anders and Isabela/Fenris.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult themes (especially future chapters).

Genre: Drama/Romance with a touch of dark humor.

Whew, took me a while to finish this! Hope you enjoy it guys, thanks for the reviews (: Onwards!

"Words."

'_Thoughts__' _/ '_Dreams'_

-o-o-o-

Hawke's eyebrows furrowed as she inspected the money on the table in front of her. She didn't expect that they'd have so little to work with.

"Twenty-three sovereigns, eleven silvers, and eighty-seven coppers," concluded Varric, after digging for his last copper in his oversized coat pockets. They had pooled their money together in order to see how much they had. Everyone squinted at the money through the dim light of Erlot's inn. Erlot himself sat at his table, mixing chemicals and ingredients, maintaining a deaf ear to their conversation.

"That's so little," murmured Merrill with a worried gaze," Isn't it?"

"It would be fine if it were one person, Daisy, but four..." Varric replied.

"Well we can't exactly do anything about that now, can we?" said Hawke," All of our money is back home."

Fenris caught her gaze," You're right. We need to get away from here, and then worry about money. Where is the best place to go to?"

Everyone paused. Hawke rubbed her temples contemplatively, laying out her options. There was no way they'd be able to stay in the area; everyone in the Free Marches would know about what happened in Kirkwall, and they would be looking out for her, even the smallest of villages. No use hiding back in Ferelden, either, as they would easily be cornered by the templars there...

"What of Rivain?" offered Fenris.

"Rivain? There's a thought..." said Varric," the place is hidden enough, and doesn't have strong attachments with the Free Marches, except with a few port towns."

"How would we get to Rivain? Isn't that across the water?" asked Merrill.

Varric paused, biting his lip. The four companions looked to each other, pondering.

"We could simply hop a ship from Brandel's Reach," said Fenris," small, accessible port town there, strong ties with Rivain. We should be able to sneak on a ship somewhere. Easier said than done, however, and the island is bursting at the seams with bandits and smugglers."

Varric chuckled, "Now when'd the broody elf get so knowledgeable, eh?"

"One can learn much from overhearing rumors and news while their master dines with his guests."

"Speaking of Brandel's Reach, I think Broody here's right. I got an old... acquaintance there who I've wanted to pay a visit to for quite some time now," explained Varric with a peculiar glint in his eyes; the kind that he usually had when he was planning something.

"From the way you said 'acquaintance, I'll reckon he was of the bad sort," replied Hawke.

"You got it. He's this captain, you see, of a ship called the 'Medusa', a smuggling ship that sails all around Thedas, smuggling lyrium to the cities on the borders of all the provinces. Captain Markan's his name. Long ago he bailed out on a deal we made together, and I always wanted to get him back for it. What say we go and get us some Medusa?" chuckled Varric.

"And just how would we do that?" asked Fenris skeptically.

"We could just ask if we could please borrow their smuggling ship for a few days," joked Hawke unhelpfully.

"What about a disguise?" asked Merrill," If you can look just like the captain, then you won't have to hide, wouldn't you?"

Varric looked at her with his eyebrows raised and clapped his hands gleefully.

"Now we're talking!"

"How exactly will you concoct a disguise for him? Blood magic?" spat Fenris coldly.

"No, it isn't blood magic!" insisted Merrill," it's an old elven spell that the First used to cast on themselves so that they would look exactly like their Keepers in case of an attack on elven camps while the Keeper is ill."

"Odd tactic," commented Fenris bitterly," Let us simply kill the captain, would that not be far simpler?"

"No, this sounds much more fun. If we can cast Varric to look like the captain for a few days until we reach Rivain, and if we can just go as his workers or something, then it will look less suspicious, and no one will suspect anything," answered Hawke," Is there anything you need for this spell, Merrill?"

She shook her head.

"Not very much. Varric and the man both need to be there, though. I'll need a lot of time, however... the spell takes a lot of concentration."

"Oh, and please keep this spell a secret. I'm not supposed to be telling you this right now," said Merrill, fidgeting nervously.

"What do we do with the captain himself?" asked Fenris.

"Tie him up and throw him in the foundry!" laughed Varric, slapping his knee. Hawke reckoned that he was more than slightly tipsy by now, having drunk three entire tankards of ale.

"All right, it seems like we're settled," smiled Hawke," shall we head to Brandel's Reach?"

"Let's have another round, what's the hurry?" asked Varric.

"Varric, we have to leave now. The templars are looking for us by now, and there's no telling where they are. We have no time," said Hawke.

"Use your sense, dwarf," scolded Fenris," let us pack our things and leave immediately."

At that precise moment, the door banged loudly. All eyes in the room snapped to the front door, panicked. A rush of fear ran over Hawke's senses. A moment of tension rang through the air before a loud, gruff voice rang.

"Open up, old man! Templar business! Need'a ask you a couple questions!"

_"Fuck..."_

Hawke's eyes darted back and forth to her companions, her heart dropping. Varric and Merrill looked just as alarmed, and Fenris's mouth was in a grim line. Erlot looked up from his work, frowning at the rude interruption.

"Shit, hide!" Varric seethed.

The door knocked again with more force, with audible voices outside chattering amongst themselves. In that instant, Hawke and all of her companions clambered around the room, looking for a hiding spot. Hawke's eyes dashed from underneath the staircase, to the window ledge, to the cupboard, and to the shelves. Merrill gripped Hawke's shoulder, shaking and fretting.

_"I can't hide anywhere here!"_ Hawke thought, panicking.

Erlot seemed dazed, but did not move, and jumped at the insistent scream of the gruff templar's voice.

"Erlot you old bastard! Open up before we have your maggoty inn burned to the ground!"

Hawke paused, her eyes locking with Fenris worriedly. He stared at her, silently asking her what they should do. The lock on the inn began to budge as the templars pushed against it insistently.

_"If Anders were here, he would go insane,"_ Hawke knew. Her heart clenched, and she chided herself, pushing all thoughts of Anders out of her mind.

"Hold't," whispered Erlot amidst the loud knocking and increasing volume of noise and voices outside," there's a secret door out."

"They will find us still," stated Fenris.

"Not if they think ye went in a diff'rent direction," Erlot said urgently. He beckoned the group over to where he stood at his counter, and pointed underneath his counter. A small trapdoor, just big enough for one person to fit through at a time, lay on the ground beneath the counter. Varric immediately pulled the knob open to reveal a gloomy darkness within.

"Go go go go!" Varric whispered. Merrill began to slink into the trapdoor reluctantly, afraid of the dark. Erlot paced the room, seeming to be looking for something, until he reached a chest in the corner of his room. He flicked it open just as Merrill was completely claimed by the darkness of the trapdoor, and Fenris began to descend into the passage.

"What're you hiding in there, old man? I said open up!" Hawke's heart jumped again at the booming voice outside. She urged Fenris to hurry.

In the chest, Erlot picked up a large, strange green-colored root that seemed very heavy. He looked it over, satisfied. Walking back to his counter, he pulled back his arm, with the root in hand, aiming for the wall on the other side of the inn, then paused, looking at Hawke and Varric, who was now entering the trapdoor.

Hawke gazed at him, confused.

"_What is he doing...?"_

He smiled at her," Good luck, kids. I'll handle 'em, don't ye worry."

She had no time to respond, as Varric pulled her through the door as soon as he was engulfed by the passage. At that precise moment, Erlot threw the root at the wall, completely breaking it, and looking as though someone had broken through into the dark forest. Trees surrounded the hole in the wall, leading to an impenetrable darkness. The front door finally unhinged, and Hawke caught a glimpse of a tall, burly templar with steely grey eyes as he entered the inn, before she shut the trapdoor behind her. She heard voices above herself and strained to listen.

"Help, ser! They threatened to kill me if I didn't allow them a place to rest for the night!"

"Calm yourself, old man. Where did they go?"

"That way, ser!" Hawke presumed he pointed to the hole he made in the wall. A loud thudding of boots was heard, and then faded.

She smiled to herself, impressed by the old man's cleverness. This would keep the templars searching for hours, inside that dark forest. Thanking him silently, she began to descend down the cold iron ladder in the passage. The voices had died away completely.

All around her, she felt wet ground pressing into her skin and dirt slithering into her feet. Step by step, her sore legs paved down the ladder until she reached the bottom of the passage. Turning around, she saw a luminous ball of light in Merrill's hand, and could clearly see the faces of her three companions. Merrill looked shaken and wild, her dark hair everywhere, but she was smiling. As was Varric.

"Are you hurt?" Fenris' deep baritone voice whispered as Hawke shivered in the cold air of the passage. He stood beside her, his shock of silver hair almost being a light in the darkness by itself. She shook her head, looking ahead in the tunnel. A short muddy path lay ahead, leading to a small wooden staircase.

"Why the hell does he even need this tunnel?" questioned Varric. Hawke wondered the same.

"Does it matter? We are free, let us not waste this opportunity," stated Fenris.

Everyone agreed, and began to make way briskly to the staircase, with Merrill leading the way and Varric in the back, making sure no one followed them. The cold, barren tunnel echoed their muddy footsteps as water dripped steadily from the muddy ceilings.

Hawke walked behind Merrill, feeling Fenris behind her, breathing heavily as he usually did. She didn't know why, but when he looked at her, he made her shiver. Goosebumps appeared on the back of her neck, and she adjusted her robe, thankful that her turtleneck-shaped robe covered her neck.

"Did anyone catch what that innkeeper said to keep the templars away?" asked Merrill, looking back at her companions.

"He made a huge hole in the wall and then pretended that we broke through into the dark forest," answered Hawke.

Varric began to laugh heartily from the back, "Not bad, Erlot, not goddamn bad."

"How is this supposed to help us? This does nothing for our reputation," frowned Fenris.

"We can't exactly help our reputation as it is now, anyways. The templars weren't going to be as willing to listening to our side of the story before as they are now," reasoned Hawke.

She felt Fenris glaring holes into her backside, eager to argue. He did not speak anymore after, though. She let out a quiet sigh of relief, not realizing that she was holding her breath.

They had finally reached the end of the tunnel, where a small lantern hung at the staircase. Merrill snapped her fingers, ridding them of the ball of light. Ascending up the stairs, Merrill opened the door hesitantly, and Hawke peered outside.

The afternoon sun's bright rays shone into her face and illuminated the darkness of the tunnel. They stepped out and stretched, having not enjoyed the warmth of the outdoor sun for a while. Varric pulled out a compass and his map, checking where they were. Satisfied, he pointed to the east. Merrill, who had just caught her breath, looked at him helplessly.

"How long do we have to walk, Varric?" she asked nervously.

"Well Daisy, if we walk briskly, we could make it there in a full day. We're going to have to stop for the night, though, so it'll take longer. More than likely, it'll take more than a day."

Merrill sighed, exasperated. Hawke, however, did not falter.

"Then what're we waiting for? Onward!"

Everyone nodded.

They began walking to the east, Merrill dragging behind, hanging her head. The grasslands ahead of them stretched for miles and miles, and nothing could be seen beyond the horizon. It was almost as if they were walking in an endless field. They were tired, but grateful to see the cheerful sun again.

As the day dragged on, the four companions began to grow hungry. Day became night, and the sun became engulfed by the horizon, the bright moon taking its place soon afterwards. A chilly wind began to pick up, and everyone clutched their clothing, feeling the wind nip at their tired bones.

Hawke looked to Fenris. He was still walking stoically, refusing to show that he was the slightest bit cold, maintaining his proud, but hunched step.

_"It's just like him,_" thought Hawke,_" trying to hide his weaknesses."_

"I think we'd all agree," said Varric, his teeth chattering, "if I said that it's high-time we stop for the night."

Everyone nodded, and looked around for a place to camp. They had only just realized that they were

inching towards the shore, and there was almost no suitable place to camp. Sighing, Varric led the party closer to the woods, where they settled in the soft grass. Fenris left almost immediately to get firewood, carrying the Blade of Mercy, Hawke's gift in his hands. Hawke smiled, remembering when she'd given him that sword. He'd refused it at first, dubbing it as Tevinter filth, too proud to admit its intricate craftsmanship and sharp edge. She continued to offer it to him, and eventually, he accepted it reluctantly. She knew he loved it secretly.

She sat on the ground, unpacking her things. She took out a change of clothing, and walked with Merrill, who also had her clothes in hand, behind a pair of bushes, where they would change into a more comfortable set. Hawke practically peeled the clothing off her skin, hissing as the dried blood on her torn robes lifted off her skin painfully. Merrill saw Hawke's discomfort.

"Oh, let me help with that, Hawke," she said, as she pressed a cold salve onto the red areas, and Hawke relaxed, feeling the soothing coolness of the salve spread into her being.

The two women quickly dressed, and then rejoined Varric, who was sitting beside his beloved Bianca, patting her lovingly. They began to prepare for bed, and Varric began to take out the supplies that he had bought at Myll. Hawke and Merrill took out their bedrolls from their packs.

"Thank the Maker I grabbed these on the way out," he muttered, showing them the pork, cheese, fruits, and other provisions out of a large pack.

"I also bought this for you, Hawke," said Varric, holding up two small objects. Hawke looked up, and nearly dropped her bedroll.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not, Hawke," said Varric, all the mirth gone from his voice. Hawke never heard him speak like that.

"I'm dead serious. You gotta do it." Hawke shook her head, persistently.

Soon after, Fenris reappeared with the firewood in his arms and the Blade of Mercy strapped to his back. Sensing the tension in the air, he raised a dark eyebrow.

"What has transpired?" he asked cautiously.

Hawke looked up at him, clutching her hair. Her bottom lip quivered, making her look almost childlike.

"C'mon Hawke, you'll get used to it after a while. It'll look fine, I promise."

"No Varric, and that's final!"

"If you don't then there's no way we'll even reach Brandel's Reach without getting caught!"

"Varric, I am NOT dying my hair!"

Fenris rolled his eyes.

Varric sighed," Hawke… I know you don't want to, but it's the only way we can get away unrecognized. I'll bet you by tomorrow there's gonna be wanted signs all over the place, with our descriptions on 'em. We gotta do something about this," Varric said, pointing to his hair.

Merrill looked at the small bottles in his hands," What colours do you have, Varric?"

"Black and blonde, Daisy. Couldn't get too many, or it woulda looked suspicious."

Merrill's eyes widened, trying to imagine herself as a blonde. Hawke's fingers still latched onto her short, black hair protectively.

"What of yours, Varric?" asked Fenris.

"Me, I'm not gonna do anything."

Hawke glared at him.

"Well, I guess I'll let my hair loose."

With that, Varric pulled the band around his hair off, and let his hair flow loose. The straight locks flowed around his face, and Hawke nearly gasped. He looked so… strangely handsome? His hair waved slightly at the end, having been worn up for years, most likely, but it framed his face flatteringly.

"Am I to colour mines black, then?" asked Fenris, holding up the black bottle. Hawke's attention moved away from Varric to Fenris.

"You got it, Broody. You might want to do something about your clothes too. Remember when I suggested that you _don't_ wear something that screams, "I hate you all! I was a slave!"?"

Fenris ignored him, continuing to inspect the bottle.

"Yes, well, I'm still not dying my hair," argued Hawke.

"Hey, I don't wanna go around with my hair down either, Hawke. But c'mon, you'll look great as a blonde, I promise. Total bombshell. We'll worry about it tomorrow, so you've got a full twelve hours of being a brunette," insisted Varric. She sighed, deciding to give up and let go of the subject. She stroked her hair softly, remembering when her mother used to run her fingers through her hair, even as an adult.

Merrill gingerly picked up the provisions that Varric had bought, and her pot and large spoon, and began to cook up a dish that Hawke probably couldn't pronounce the name of.

Soon afterwards, Fenris placed the bottles back into Varric's pack and put the firewood in a dirt patch in the ground, piling one piece after another. Hawke pushed her bedroll closer to the soon-to-be fire, eager to warm up. He finished piling the wood, and then began attempting to concoct a fire with a piece of flintstone and steel, cursing and muttering to himself when he saw that it wasn't working. Hawke, who was watching him, giggled silently to herself.

Merrill whispered an incantation from behind Fenris, and a small flame began to grow amidst the wood, looking as if Fenris had created it. Satisfied, Fenris stood up and dusted his hands, looking at Hawke.

"There. I believe you see now that magic is not necessary when you have pure natural materials at hand."

With that, he bent down to lift a stick to pick at the fire, while Hawke and Merrill exchanged sarcastic glances, giggling to themselves.

He sat down next to her soon after, waiting for Merrill to finish preparing the food.

"It's strange, imagining myself with black hair," he said, looking off into the distance.

"White is not your natural hair colour, is it? Your brows are black," said Hawke, looking at his hair.

"No, it is not. It was black before, I'm sure of it, yet how it came to be white, I have never really thought about it."

"Stress? From the lyrium being etched into your skin?" asked Hawke.

"Possibly. It is not a comfortable topic."

Hawke was silent after that, deciding not to go into forbidden territory.

Merrill handed them both a bowl of stew. They ate in silence, enjoying the warmth of the fire against the chilly night air. The moon loomed over them protectively, illuminating the land for miles, making it simple to spot templars or other people. They, however, were concealed by the tall shadows of the trees of the forest. Hawke finished her bowl, placing it beside Merrill's empty one, and fell back against her bedroll, savoring the feeling of snuggling into her warm covers. Her companions muttered a quiet "good night" to each other before each took their places at their bedrolls.

She felt shuffling beside her, and saw Fenris stand up to go sit with his back against one of the trees close by, with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.

He had never carried a bedroll with them on their travels, and when asked why, simply said that he didn't need it. Hawke had assumed that he had gotten used to sleeping whenever he could on the floor or against something when he was a slave, and felt pity in her heart for him.

As he slept soundly, Hawke analyzed him, turning herself around on her bedroll to look up at him, while Merrill and Varric both dozed off.

Tall and lanky best described him. He had gained several scars over the seven years she'd known him, many of them on his tan face. She knew that he was far older than he looked, despite the signs of aging already taking place on his skin. Despite him never telling her his age, she knew he was in his mid-thirties at the very least. Even as he slept, he wore a frown on his face. In spite of all these things, Hawke thought him to be very handsome.

'_Something must be terribly wrong with me,'_ she thought,_' to be checking out Fenris like this._'

She laughed at herself mentally, blaming the ale she had drunk at Erlot's, and deciding that she, too, would go to sleep. There was a lot to do tomorrow, after all.

-o-o-o-

Pitch black filled her surroundings. Hawke could see nothing. Hawke could hear nothing.

'_There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself.'_

What's that voice?

'_I__ took a spirit into my soul and change myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.'_

It's so frighteningly familiar…

A light appeared at the corner of Hawke's vision. A man sat on a wooden crate. She felt herself walk over to him, facing him. The man looked up at her.

_Anders. _

He looked afraid, fearful, but resolute and proud. Around them was the loudest silence Hawke had ever heard.

His eyes bore holes into hers as he spoke, '_The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution.' _His voice echoed loudly as he spoke, as if trailing on for miles.

It scared her how he was looking at her. His eyes were pleading with her, pleading for her to see reason behind his actions. But where was reason behind mindless killing? Where was reason behind the slaying of innocents?

Her hand leapt out suddenly and struck him on the face. Hawke stood, horrified, with no control of her hands, or any part of her body for that matter. He winced, his eyes shut from the impact. His hand slowly reached up to cradle his stinging cheek, shakingly. His eyes opened once more, and in them, Hawke saw only love. She felt herself strike him on the cheek again.

'_Why? Why, why, why?' _she screamed, her hand striking him with every word, tears springing to her eyes, only stopping when he spoke once more.

He ignored her question, not even attempting to shield himself from her hand, _'If I pay for that with my life… then I pay. Perhaps then at least Justice will be free.' _

Hawke's voice rang out against her will, struggling to sound steady, '_Opinions?'_ Her head turned to the side, where Fenris appeared amidst the dark.

'_He wants to die. Kill him and be done with it__,' he_ said with a small, satisfied smile.

None of her other companions appeared.

Her head turned back to Anders, who was watching her wistfully. He looked at her so hopefully, so innocently, like a child who'd been naughty, and was awaiting his punishment. His gaze held no contempt for her, no hate or no grudge. Only trust. She knew at that moment that he would do anything she wanted, go along with anything she would do to him, like a dog following its owner blindly into death. Even if she decided to rip him apart limb from limb in the most painful way imaginable, even if she'd killed him and resurrected him thousands of times, and abused him and killed him numerous times over and over, he would still love her, no less strongly.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ear as the tension in the air thickened with every second of her impending answer. Hawke felt helpless in her own frame, her conscience like a puppet to her body.

'_You have to pay for what you've done.'_

Water rose in the back of her eyes again.

_'I know.'_

_'For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you,' _said Anders, offering her a small smile, '_it was nice to be happy... for a while.' _

She couldn't take it any more. Hawke sobbed loudly as she drew her pocketknife, the one that Carver had given her for her 20th birthday. Tears fell on Anders' lap. The sound of steel sliding against the wooden sheath sounded in the piercing silence.

Pulling back, knife in hand, Hawke aimed for Anders chest, and he caught her gaze one last time with one last, loving look, before she plunged the knife into his heart, and watched the sanguine blood pour out of his fatal wound.

The smile never left his face.

Hawke fell back, finally gaining back control of her body. She crashed against the ground, broken and sobbing, crying out and begging for the Maker to reverse time. Anders' voice still sounded in her ears against the pelting sound of her sobbing.

'_This is the justice all mages have awaited.'_

_'This is the justice all mages have awaited.'_

_'__This is the justice all mages have awaited.'_

_'This is justice... isn't it?'_

"No it's not!" yelled Hawke, sitting up, completely covered in sweat, with tears running down her face. It took her mere moments to realize that none of it had been real. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her coverlets around her, trying to battle the cold, the fire having died long ago.

Looking up, she saw Fenris' head raise up to look at her, startled from her outburst. Her two other companions continued to sleep soundly, undisturbed. He stood up, limping over to where she lay, and sat down beside her.

"You've been whimpering and yelling in your sleep. What is the matter?" asked Fenris calmly. Hawke hiccupped, her fingers reaching up to wipe away the tears nestled on her cheeks.

"I- I dreamed of Anders. It-it was –hic- it was the final b-battle bet-between Meredith and us, a-and it w-was when I… w-when I k-killed him…" gasped Hawke, stuttering. Fenris listened patiently.

"I see," he said simply.

He sat beside her as she continued to cry softly. She could not get the image of Anders smiling up at her as he died out of her head. Worst of all, was that this was not a far-fetched nightmare. It had actually happened; and she couldn't take it back.

"I wish I'd n-never killed him," said Hawke, after calming down some," I just wish I could take it a-all back, you know? There was n-no need to kill him, he c-could have repented…"

"Know this, Hawke," began Fenris," None of his actions were your fault."

"What Anders did was of his own accord, even if he blamed it on some spirit. As much as he denies it, he was broken from the start. Although I believe that you should have watched him more closely, I do not hold you responsible for anything Anders did," Fenris reasoned.

"I don't care if anyone does," said Hawke snappily. A pregnant pause broke between them, until Fenris finally spoke.

"I know you don't. I simply thought that it would give you some comfort to know that you did no wrong in killing him, and thus should not blame yourself for it."

Hawke felt guilty. She said that she didn't care about his opinion, when he was clearly trying to cheer her up. She wiped her face with her hands, trying to make her more presentable. Then, she looked up at Fenris and gave him a weak smile, mouthing a small "thank you". He nodded with approval.

"A young, pretty woman should know no tears," he said, satisfied. Hawke gave a real smile at this.

'_You're not that cold inside, are you Fenris_?' thought Hawke to herself. A comfortable silence ensued between them, before Fenris spoke.

"I, too, have killed people I regret killing," said Fenris, laying back into the grass.

"Aye, you told me. The Fog Warriors, right? From Seheron?" asked Hawke, remembering having this conversation years ago.

"Yes, but unlike you, I was at complete fault for doing so. I betrayed the ones who'd cared for me and nursed me back to health all those months, when I had the perfect opportunity to turn on Danarius," explained Fenris.

"I could have gained much from killing Danarius then and there. I could have killed the one who was responsible for all my misery, for all the hate for the world I have now. I did not, and these markings are here to remind me," said Fenris miserably, looking at his arms. The lyrium stood out from his skin like white on black.

She placed a hand on him, comfortingly. He winced at her touch at first, then moved away, uncomfortable. Hawke's gaze fell.

"Your markings hurt when people touch you, don't they?"

"Not so much hurt as cause... discomfort. I'm not fond of being touched, unless for... recreational purposes."

Hawke stared at him, then burst out laughing. So much, that she couldn't stop. Fenris stared at her amused, wondering what it was that he said that made her laugh so.

"Recreational purposes? That's a new one. By recreational purposes, you mean the ones you have had with Isabela?" asked Hawke, giggling still.

"Ah, yes. That. Well, in the moment, I do not care. In the few encounters I've had with her, I seeked simply to release stress with a woman I had respect for, but otherwise I do not like touching."

"Respect? I thought you hated her or something..." said Hawke, confused.

"Nothing of the sort," explained Fenris, "I appreciate her empathy for slaves and respect her fighting abilities. She's... odd to say the least, but helpful, in more ways than one. I lost all respect for her once she ran off with that blighted relic, however," said Fenris. He seemed bothered by the fact.

"And now, all this happened, with Meredith and Orsino and the whole templar-mage crisis. It is strange how things change, and how things fall apart. Now we are on the run away from templars who're eager to cut our throats if they get the chance, all because of one _mage_," said Fenris bitterly.

Hawke looked down, ashamed, but then spoke up confidently.

"Hey… we're on a new road now… it's a new start, isn't it? We can rebuild from here, we can do whatever we want from here, no more regrets." she said, optimistically.

"Here you were a few minutes ago, wallowing in self-pity, and now you're as bright as the sun, speaking of new beginnings and rebuilding. You are a strange woman, Hawke," said Fenris, amused. She knew that he didn't mean it as an insult, and she giggled softly.

"What can I say? I'm a moody lady."

"I can see that," said Fenris. A small pause broke between them, until Fenris finally stood up.

"Shall I leave you to your 'misery' then… Lady Hawke?" asked Fenris with a smirk. Hawke smiled, looking up at him.

"Only if I get to leave you to yours, Ser Fenris," she said.

He chuckled, and then walked back to his spot at the tree, where he sat again with his back against the tree, and his eyes closed.

Hawke, too, lay herself to sleep, consumed by nightmares once more, but this time, she was able to battle them.

**SPECTRUM **


End file.
